I've outgrown my own imagination and spent my youth on what was not yet needed.
Maybe an escape will steal from the present the little bits of the past i've left behind.
Here i'll be cheerful, imaginative and cheifly inconsistant. I might get gloomy though...
Hopefully untied to myself.

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Sometimes it takes reading the same thing over and over again; sometimes it takes a simple author's constant nagging and moaning over the plight for life, "short as it might be"... To change your view on things.

After having spent years discussing whether life is a right or a gift, the point of existence; that eternal question of life, the universe and everything, or the philosophical validity of the strong anthropic principal; I think I've broken through and fallen deeper still into the valley of despair (a joyful and beautiful valley, mind you).

It's regarding the end of the universe, the end of all life (same as we all know we will someday die, yet secretly hope that day will never come):
Although it's been a long time since I've come to truthfully embrace my eventual death, at first, I had managed it by holding on to a particular sense of continuance: the mark of my having lived becoming forever etched into the fabric of existence; the joy brought forth by my own, particular, threads woven into reality and the rest of life. All the while sustaining myself by the notion of existence itself being unending, of having a way around some particularly threatening physical observations (more precisely: the laws of thermodynamics).

Today, or rather, just now, I realize I have let go of that fundamental (at least to me) hope that for someone, somewhere, at some time there will always be a "tomorrow".

I now feel comfortable to think that existence itself, the universe, will be no more. Accepting that eventually there will be no life as we know it, or ever be able to know it. Thinking that someday, this fanciful fabric of existence, through which my actions transcend, will as well cease to be now fails to rattle me in terror.

It's as if I've disintegrated all life, and then not only said: 'hey why not?', or 'what would a good question to 42 be?', but then had the chance to play with it, only to have it away, without achievement, without meaning, unwaveringly, inconsequentially, simply lost it, abandoned it. Voided life.

Our current reality is that in all likelihood, such a thing will happen; eventually...

To which I've responded from this gorgeous valley, this almost literal oasis of life:
'So what?! It's still worth enjoying!'